Berserk
by MagicalFish
Summary: SainKent-What could turn someone against the one they love?
1. Default Chapter

Okay, this is kind of an experimental fic....well, all my fics are experimental, but whatever.  
Warnings-Yaoi (Kent/Sain) and some violence that some people may consider graphic. Oh, and angst. I have a thing for angst.  
  
'' signifies thought, because I'm not sure if italics is working.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Sain trotted along after Kent happily, appreciating the beauty of the day. They were in the middle of a battle, but it had been going well, the tactician expertly utilizing every tool she had to win the day.

"So, what are we supposed to find?" His cheerful voice broke the monotony of the horse's hooves as they rode through the thick vegetation.

"Weren't you listening?" Kent spoke up angrily. "The tactician told us there were two magic users out here that we had to take care of." Kent was far less positive than Sain was, being overly cautious and strictly adhering to the rules of war.

"Yeah, whatever." Sain responded airily. Eliwood had already defeated the commander of the forces they were currently fighting, and their task now was pretty much janitorial work. Sain made no attempt to locate the said magic users, nor did he bother trying to hide his presence in an attempt to lay an ambush. Of course, this was all to the annoyance of his companion, who turned to him irately.

"Sain, if you don't start taking this more seriously, you're going to get yourself"-

Kent was interrupted as a bolt of lightning hit a tree only a few feet in front of them, splitting it to the center with a thunderous crash. Sain's horse reared, and Kent heeled his own mount and darted forward, looking quickly for the mage with the bolting spell. Sain followed after regaining control of his steed, doing his best to keep up with his friend.

Kent reined his horse to a halt, taking in the scene before him. A red cloaked mage stood in the clearing, frantically turning the pages of his anima tome. The back of Kent's neck prickled; the tactician had said there'd be two magic users, where was the other one?

Sain, unperturbed by Kent's sudden unease, rode up and dispatched the enemy mage with his lance, slicing him cleanly. He looked around as Kent had done, pulling his lance from the mage's still form, and was the first to notice the cloaked druid standing in the shadows.

Sain was sure that the outnumbered druid would flee, but he was wrong. The cloaked figure, hard to distinguish from the trees that had disguised him, raised a staff in the air, and a strange reddish aura surrounded the tip. Sain didn't know what the staff was supposed to do, but didn't bother to find out, and ran the druid through with his lance.

"Well, that wasn't so hard," Sain commented, wiping the blood off on the grass. "You okay?" Sain turned to Kent, only to see his comrade looking at him very strangely. "Um, Kent?"

'_Kill him!'_ The voice hissed in Kent's mind, and the enchanted paladin had no choice but to obey.

"Kent?" Sain backed up, confused, as Kent raised his lance, and a look that Sain had never seen before and never wanted to see again crossed his features. Kent smiled and stabbed toward Sain, missing him by a hairs breadth.

It didn't take long for Sain to figure out what had happened, and what that staff had been. '_Oh no...'_

Kent grinned malevolently and his horse moved under him uneasily, unused to the change in its rider's demeanor. It was trained to obey, however, and did so, following its rider's commands to advance slowly on the retreating Sain.

Sain was at a loss. He knew his life was in very real danger, but he couldn't bring himself to raise arms against his best friend, the man he secretly-

The lance slammed into Sain's chest with a sickening thwack, the sound of tearing muscle and crunching bone audible in the clearing. Sain paled as blood flowed from him, and his own lance fell from nerveless fingers, vital connections severed. He coughed involuntarily, and his body convulsed as he did so, blood spurting from his mouth and staining his green armor. The world spun around him, and he felt himself fall, his body hitting the ground with a bone jarring thud. He didn't feel it as he should have, however, as he continued to feel himself fall, the blue sky and his horse standing over him seeming to recede farther and farther away.

'_Finish him!'_ Kent, or what was Kent in form but not in spirit, raised his lance again, laughing as he prepared to finish off what remained of his companion.

The twang of a bowstring sounded faintly in his ears, and Kent grunted, dropping his lance as the arrow hit his shoulder. He looked up at the form of a red haired archer, who stared at him in horror, shakily holding his bow. Kent narrowed his eyes and wrenched the arrow from his arm, blood spattering the ground as he did so, and licked the blood from the tip before throwing it away. He hefted a javelin in place of his lance, and the voice sang in his ears, '_Kill the archer!'_

Wil backed up a step and fumbled another arrow into his bow, trying to decide how he could incapacitate Kent without killing him. The paladin seemed not to notice what Wil did, however, and began to close the distance between them faster than Wil could move, the javelin raised for a killing blow. Wil shut his eyes tightly.

Kent paused before striking, becoming aware of a second presence. A woman on a horse...The voice railed in his mind, confused, before screaming '_Kill her first!'_

The voice was too late. Priscilla raised the restore staff, and the voice vanished from Kent's mind, leaving him disoriented for a moment before coming back to himself.

"...Kent?" Wil's voice, hesitant and afraid. His bow remained trained on the paladin.

Kent ignored Wil, his mind suddenly bringing into memory what had occurred. '_Sain...'  
_

Kent immediately looked toward the still form of his green clad companion. Sain lay motionless in a pool of blood, his tunic and armor stained with it. His face was deathly pale.

A black cloud seemed to form around Kent's psyche, and everything save for the prone form of his friend faded into obscurity. _'He's dead..'_ Kent could not keep what had occurred from playing over and over in his mind; how he had stabbed the man he secretly longed for, and enjoyed it! '_I killed him I killed him I killed him-'  
_

Kent mechanically drew his sword, the last weapon he had available to him, and turned it so the blade faced his own heart. He closed his eyes, preparing to drive it into his chest.

"Hey!" Wil moved faster, running over and knocking the blade out of Kent's hand. "Holy shit, Kent, snap out of it!" He shook the paladin fiercely, his face white with shock over what he had seen take place.

Kent didn't notice the archer below his horse, looking over at Sain. Priscilla knelt next to the object of his focus, feeling his neck with her fingers. "He's alive." She stood and raised the mend staff, a blue glow enveloping her and Sain both. "Barely."

The black cloud lifted, and Kent felt his emotions returning with the feeling of hope. His mouth was dry, and he moved his horse toward Sain, but Priscilla was quicker, her face an unreadable healer's mask.

"He needs more medical attention than I can give him here. I'm taking him back to camp." With that said, she slung Sain's prone form over her horse, mounting it and setting off at a gallop toward their encampment. Sain's body flopped like a rag doll as Priscilla galloped away, blood marring his features.

"Kent?" Wil looked up at him questioningly, and then quickly stepped out of the way as Kent leaned over the side of his horse and was violently sick.

"Um..." The normally gregarious Wil didn't know how to address the obviously distraught paladin, so he simply said what needed to be said. "We need to get back too; I'll lead Sain's horse."

Kent spat into the dirt, then nodded. Part of him wanted to get back as soon as possible, while another part of him wanted to remain here, afraid of what he might find. If he had killed him......

"I'm sure he'll be okay." Wil piped up, as if reading Kent's thoughts. Kent desperately wanted it to be true, Wil's words echoing in his head. He had to be.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Okay, if I get positive reviews I'll update. This is the second Sain/Kent fic I've done, 'cause I'm addicted to the pairing. The other one isn't here'cause it's a bit too...er, graphic to put here. So if you're into that, just ask for the link, I guess.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2. In which nothing happens.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Wil and Kent walked back toward camp slowly, their pace measured by Wil's tending to Sain's riderless horse. The archer prattled on about nothing in particular, trying his best to distract the paladin from his own despair, but the fact that Kent ignored him made it ineffective. Kent's silence only disturbed Wil further, and the youthful archer finally stopped his seemingly endless chatter. He regarded Kent with a practiced eye, noting how grim he looked. He rode professionally in his saddle, but Wil recognized the signs of severe emotional withdrawal.  
  
Kent's emotions were such that he couldn't read them, and he struggled. The formerly care free day seemed bleak now, lost in a fog of anguish, and his thoughts returned to what he had done. He could see himself raising his lance, Sain's sprawled form, and he heard his twisted laughter echoing in his head. How...how had that happened? His gut churned, and Kent took a shuddering breath, trying to compose himself and his thoughts. If Sain lived, Kent would be unimaginably grateful. If Sain died, he would as well. It was that simple. He would not be able to continue knowing that he had killed the man he loved, whether he had been aware of it or not. The fact that he had been under a spell didn't matter to him, didn't even factor into his calculations of his own guilt.  
  
As they neared camp, Kent's heart sped up, pounding in his chest. Did he even want to return? Anxiety flickered across his cloud of emotions, worsening his inner turmoil, and he stopped his horse for a moment, fighting an illogical urge to flee. His breathing sounded ragged in his ears, and he jumped when Wil tapped him on the arm, looking down at the archer with thinly veiled panic.  
  
"Relax, okay?" Wil was worried, unsure as to what Kent would do. He did not know the older man very well, but from what he had seen, Kent was really unstable. '_Duh'_ Wil thought to himself. _'He practically killed his best friend.'  
_  
Kent worked to bring his breathing under control, and Wil sympathized, but failed to really understand how the paladin was feeling. He could not know of the way Kent truly felt for Sain, and thus left him to report to Lady Lyndis, leading Sain's horse as he went. He figured Kent would be okay, and was also unwilling to accompany him to see if Sain had survived or not. He didn't want to see any more of Kent's distress, the events of the day already having been more than the young archer could handle.  
  
Kent felt no offense at his sudden abandonment, and in truth, felt grateful for it. He remembered also attacking Wil, though that memory was superceded by what he had done to Sain. Perhaps the archer was afraid of him? He laughed bitterly.  
  
Kent worked up his courage, and rode into camp. He felt people's eyes on him, and figured that Wil had already told everyone what had happened. His shame was petty compared to his fear, however, and he rode quickly to the tent that the healer's shared, praying for the wellbeing of his friend.  
  
He leapt off his horse upon arriving, and strode quickly to the entrance. He was stopped suddenly by Serra, who roughly shoved him backward, and his shoulder twinged painfully.  
  
"Lucius and Priscilla are in there healing him, and you won't help anything." Her expression belied her tactlessness, however, and she added "I think he'll be okay." Whether it was true or she was saying it for Kent's benefit, he couldn't tell. Part of his panic did lessen, though. Sain was still alive. Kent's breathing began to return to normal.  
  
Serra looked at him strangely for a moment. "You're bleeding. Badly." She motioned to his shoulder, and he followed her gesture, realizing that she was right. Blood oozed from his shoulder, and he recalled, sickeningly, pulling Wil's arrow from his arm. Serra picked up one of the heal staves that was leaning against the outside of the tent. "Hold still."  
  
Kent suddenly backed up, covering the wound with his other hand. "It's...its fine, really. You don't need to." Kent's guilt at what he had done to Sain moved him, and he swallowed heavily. The pain would be penance for what he had done. Not enough, but a start.  
  
Serra raised her eyebrows, looking at him like he was crazy. He retreated from the healer's tent, his heart pounding again. He was aware of the pain in his shoulder now, a throbbing that threatened to become worse. _'I deserve it'_ he thought, tears welling in his eyes. He wasn't sure if he ran because he might be healed, or if he ran because he didn't want to face the idea of what he had done, but he stopped only when he had reached his own tent-no, the tent he shared with Sain. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to fight the avalanche of sadness, guilt, and shame. He couldn't sit, so he paced, holding his shoulder with one hand. Panic rose in him in waves-what if Sain died? What if Sain was permanently wounded? What if Sain never forgave him? These thoughts were unbearable, but he would not, could not keep them from his mind. He removed his hand from his shoulder, and only stopped pacing when he noticed that his fingers came away bloody.  
  
He sat down where he stood, on the side of his tent, transfixed by the blood. Unwanted visions of Sain's blood came to him, Sain's blood on his lance, and on the grass where Sain had fallen. How...how could Kent pay for that? He closed his eyes and dug his fingernails into the wound on his shoulder, losing himself in the pain, to distract himself from the memories and his own guilt. Blood flowed more quickly, further staining his red tunic, and Kent bit his lip as dizziness from the pain overcame him. It wasn't enough, though, not after what Sain had gone through.  
  
Finally, he took his hand away from the bloody wound, now deeper and torn far more raggedly than an arrow could do. He stared at his bloody fingers, panting. He wanted to go back to the healer's tent, to see how Sain was doing, but he didn't want Serra's, or anyone else's, concern. He threw off his now blood soaked shirt, putting on another one to hide the now uglier wound. He made no attempt to bind it or alleviate the bleeding in any way, and dipped his hands in water to wash off the blood before going outside.  
  
He realized that he had only left about fifteen minutes ago, but he needed to know, positively, if Sain would be okay. No one stood outside the tent when he got there, and he fought the urge to go inside.  
  
He was beaten to it when Priscilla emerged from the tent, and his stomach lurched when he saw her carrying a blood soaked towel. She glanced at him for a moment before dunking the towel in water, and the shimmering aqua turned a dusty red. Kent swallowed, hard.  
  
Priscilla turned to him, looking weary. "Kent?" Kent couldn't take his eyes off the bloodied water, and only half heard her.  
  
Priscilla sighed loudly enough to get his attention, and he looked at her, eyes wide with apprehension at what she might say. If Sain was dead......  
  
"Sain will be fine." The world nearly stopped for a second, relief spreading throughout Kent's body. His panic subsided, his heart rate and breathing becoming the closest to normal ever since he had realized that he had attacked Sain.  
  
"He needs to rest, though. You are not to see him." She provided no reason for this, and the guilt and shame became sharper. Did she think he would hurt him? Why would she say that?  
  
Probably noting his sickened expression, Priscilla elaborated. "No one is to see him. He needs rest, and he needs to be free of stimulus. He was......" She trailed off, wondering whether or not to add the last part, and then decided to lessen it. "Hurt badly."  
  
Kent nodded slowly, but he had to see Sain. He wouldn't leave without doing so. He sat down heavily outside the tent, staring at the ground blankly, his feelings flooding and overwhelming him. His shoulder smoldered with pain, but he didn't notice it anymore. He would stay here until he could see him. He had to.  
  
Priscilla seemed to be aware of his determination and left him, as if in empathy with the paladin. She couldn't do any more for Sain now, anyway.  
  
Kent leaned his head against the tent, struggling to keep his eyes open. He felt wrung out, like the bloodied towel Priscilla had discarded, and now that his panic was gone, exhaustion replaced it. He wanted to stay awake, but his alertness bled out of him like the blood from his wound. He fell asleep against the healer's tent, his last thought being whether or not Sain would forgive him.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------  
To be continued, obviously. Leave a review, please. They make me happy. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3. Probably one more chapter after this one.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kent was asleep for only a couple hours, and it was filled with disturbing images of what had occurred. He woke up feeling worse than he had before. His head ached, his now crusty shoulder throbbed, and he felt incredibly thirsty. This part of the camp was quiet, as evening was approaching, and the eerie calm seemed to mimic how Kent felt. He looked around, but there was no sign of the healers-no sign of anyone, except for the sound of someone-probably Karel-sharpening a blade. He supposed it wasn't as odd as it appeared; no one liked to hang around the healing tent anyway. It symbolized failure, and Kent certainly felt that was true. He had failed, and now Sain was there.

He stood, then leaned heavily against the tent as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He ignored it though, and what it may implicate, as he checked the area once more. If none of the healers were here, they couldn't stop him from seeing Sain, and it wasn't like he could hurt anything by doing so. He smiled bitterly and slipped inside the tent.

The inside was dark, and Kent had to squint to see his friend lying on the other side. The tent was large, but it was only erected during battles, in case of incidences like the one today. Another wave of guilt washed over him, and for a moment Kent felt like crying out. He was almost drowning in it, and he felt that he had to talk to Sain in order to free himself.

Kent knelt next to Sain's still form. He was, of course, asleep. Or unconscious, Kent thought, and his throat thickened when he saw the pale, haggard state of his friend. Priscilla had said he would be alright, but what if she was wrong? Sain lay motionless, not even snoring, which was rare for him.

And what of the wound? Kent looked for signs of blood on the blanket that covered his companion, but saw none. Priscilla had cleaned it, of course, but had she been able to close it?

With shaking hands, Kent lowered the blanket, exposing Sain's shoulders and chest where he had stabbed him. There was nothing there, though he supposed a scar or two could be hidden in the dark. Kent suddenly felt incredibly relieved, and a slow flush crept over the redhead's face at what he was doing. That, of course, only made him feel worse again. He had stabbed this man only hours before, and now he was......? Kent quickly fixed the blanket, disgusted with himself. His shoulder twinged suddenly, painfully, as if to reprimand him, and Kent gasped, quickly covering the injury with his hand. Moving his arm as he had moved the blanket had reopened the jagged cut, and he felt more wet blood on top of the dried crust on his shoulder and shirt. For a moment, he thought the moan was his.  
  
Then he looked down and saw Sain looking around the room, his eyes unfocused and hazy with sleep. Kent immediately forgot his own pain.

"Sain?" Kent's voice was strained with emotion. The object of his fears and desires looked around for the source, and finally his eyes seemed to clear. When he caught hold of Kent's face, however, his features changed- into fear.

"No, Kent!" Sain's voice was dry and high pitched, and Kent felt his world crash down around him, quickly backing away from his friend to avoid upsetting him further. Of course Sain was afraid, he had nearly killed him! There could be no reconciliation after something like that. Kent felt the now familiar emotional shroud envelope him again, schooling himself against any reactions Sain might have. It might as well be over.

Sain's breathing was fast and erratic, almost hyperventilation, and the sight was torture. Kent wanted to comfort him, but what could he do? "Sain...it's okay, please..." Kent's mask slipped, and his voice cracked with tears.

Sain looked at him again, squinting through the dark. His breathing seemed to slow, or perhaps it was Kent's imagination. "Kent? Are you...okay?" Sain sounded almost pleading.

"I'm fine, Sain." Kent tried to sound reassuring, but got no closer to his friend. He wished it weren't so dark so he could see more clearly. He did not know whether Sain meant if he was still insane, or if Sain had meant something else, but it didn't matter.

"Good." Sain said simply, and Kent could almost sense his sudden calm. Sain was obviously too weak to keep up such fear for very long, and Kent approached slowly. Sain did not react, simply looked at him and smiled weakly. Kent did not allow himself to feel hope.

"You know...I always..." Sain trailed off, closing his eyes slowly as exhaustion stole over him. Kent thought that that might be the reason Priscilla had forbid anyone to see him, and he suddenly felt like an idiot. "I'm so...tired." Sain closed his eyes, and this time they stayed closed as his breathing regulated.

Kent felt like he was in a hole, and that Sain was what he was digging for and yet also what he was hiding from. It was a strange duality that Kent didn't know how to deal with. He wanted more than anything to stay with Sain, to comfort him and to convince him that what happened had been an accident, nothing more. And yet, how could he do that when his own guilt and shame continually convinced him that what happened had been his own fault? The fact that he felt that way proved to him that something was wrong, wrong with him. His throbbing shoulder only seemed to verify this. He couldn't get Sain to forgive him if he couldn't even forgive himself, and he saw no reason to do so.

Sain's peaceful sleep after his sudden bout of fear seemed to mock him, and Kent left, leaving Sain to his rehabilitative tranquility. The sudden light of the setting sun hit his eyes like a hammer, and he groaned, suddenly remembering his headache, the pain of which seemed to throb in time with his shoulder. He leaned against the tent with his good shoulder, trying to ignore the sensation of blood from the reopened wound running down his arm. He didn't know what to do with himself while Sain slept, and he blinked his eyes to get his bearings. He felt unusually thirsty, so that was something. He should probably swap the bloody shirt for another one, as well-for the second time that day. He wanted as little attention from the other members of camp as possible, and he couldn't manage that with a bloody shirt.

It did not take him long to change, though the process was painful, for the blood had dried and crusted on the shirt and around the injury, and thus the old shirt was almost stuck to it. Kent knew that he should wrap the wound to prevent it from happening again-even now, it oozed blood-but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't deserve it.

Kent did not want to stay alone in the tent, so he meandered around camp, trying to ignore the sensation of his teammate's eyes on him. It wouldn't pay to be introspective, though, for that would just open the door to more guilt-something Kent didn't feel he could handle right now. Despite his hyperawareness, though, he managed to bump into Wil, who looked at him askance before piping up bubbly.

"Hi! You know, you should eat some of the meat Lowen's cooking, it's good! It was like, steak or something and stuff. Where were you at dinner, there may not be much left." Wil paused, wondering if he should end the last sentence questioningly or not, and Kent managed to push past him. Wil seemed to hang around Rath a lot; he should get a clue from the close mouthed nomad. Kent figured that Wil may only be talking to him in order to cheer him up, though, and somehow that thought made him feel worse. Did he really look so pathetic? He hoped the tactician didn't say anything, she might decide to keep him out of the next battle. If that happened, he would have no way to vent his numerous frustrations.

Kent strode on through the camp, with no real destination in mind. Finally, he flopped down next a large tree, massaging his shoulder gently. It hurt like hell. That was good, though.

Suddenly, he was cloaked in shadow, and he looked up to see the sun eclipsed by a dark, flowing robe. His heart nearly stopped, and he was filled with adrenaline, leaping to his feet and drawing...nothing. He had left his weapons in the tent. That turned out to be for the best, though, when Canas noticed him jumping up and fell backwards, dropping the book he had been reading.

The adrenaline draining out of him, Kent felt like an idiot for the second time that day. It was only Canas, not...what? What had he been afraid of? "Sorry," Kent said, a little shakily. Great. Now Canas probably thought he was insane.

If he did, the monocled Druid didn't show it. He simply picked up his book and smiled at Kent, a trifle sadly. For a moment he seemed to peer intently at him, and Kent felt exposed-but only for a moment. Then the normal, slightly out of it expression returned to Canas's face. His words smoothly contradicted his appearance, however, when he cocked his head and asked "Why do you feel so guilty?"

Kent's mouth dropped open. How did he know? Then, of course, he thought that word of what he had done must have spread about camp, and Canas was simply drawing obvious conclusions...but still.

Canas seemed to wait for an answer, though, and Kent didn't know what to say. Finally, the Druid sighed, as if giving up. "I'm sorry...I just thought I sensed some sort of darkness in you."

Kent was shocked, to say the least. "What?" He croaked. _Am I truly evil?  
_

Canas saw the shock on Kent's face and waved his hands, trying to clear up the confusion. "No, no, you see, darkness can be symbolized in emotion. Self-destructive emotions are darkness, really. I didn't mean you were evil!" Canas seemed to find this funny, smiling crookedly, and Kent stood wondering whether the man could read his mind. Then what Canas had said registered-_Self destruction was darkness_. Guilt was self destruction? Kent suddenly wanted to know more.

"What do you mean? What did you sense in me?" Kent didn't know if he was getting this right or not, but at least it distracted him from thoughts of Sain.

"Well," Canas began, and he seemed truly pleased to have found someone who would listen. "Any self destructive emotion is darkness. There is a bit in everyone, I suppose. Sadness isn't, but emotions like guilt, or low self esteem...anything that makes someone think they're lesser, is darkness. I'm trained to sense such things, because part of dark magic is using the darkness in everyone against them." Canas peered at Kent intently, looking almost worried. "There seems to be a lot of darkness in you, anyway. Did something happen?"

Kent sighed, not bothering to hide it anymore. If Canas didn't know, he would find out eventually. "I attacked Sain."

Canas merely blinked at him. "Why?"

Kent looked at him angrily. "I didn't mean to!" For a moment, he felt better; it was the first time he had defended himself since it had happened. "I was berserked."

"Oh..." Canas nodded his head sagely, as if that explained everything. "And now you feel guilty?"

Kent slumped against the tree. "Shouldn't I? I...I nearly killed him. And I...." Kent trailed off, not wanting to reveal to Canas-to anyone, for that matter-the depth of his feelings for Sain.

"Well...I can't tell how you to feel, but I can explain how a berserk staff works." Kent looked at the Druid pathetically, wondering how that would help anything, but Canas continued. "A staff like that is centered in darkness, even though you don't have to be a Shaman or Druid to use it. Any kind of magic can be used to activate it, really. Of course, it seems more effective in the hands of one who uses elder magic, but that's just my opinion. Anyway, that staff uses the darkness of the mind to make its target do something inherently self destructive-which is usually attacking their teammates, though I've seen targets do some strange things. Once I saw someone run off a cliff, laughing the whole way." Canas shuddered at the memory, and Kent wondered where Canas had seen such a thing. "The darkness in the staff is almost coherent. It will cause someone to attack the person that they care about most, or if there is no one, the person who is most likely to retaliate. Either way usually ends in the destruction of both the target and his closest comrades." Canas eyed Kent. "You got lucky."

Kent certainly didn't feel lucky. Canas smiled at him, sadly, as if sympathizing. "Don't worry, Kent. Not even the best Sage can always resist such a spell. Darkness is very..." Canas seemed to stare into nothingness, as if seeing something that Kent could not. "...Alluring." The Druid shook his head as if to clear it, and his smile returned. Kent wondered what Canas had seen, and decided it was best he not know.

Canas dusted off his book, trying to find the page he had been reading. "Good luck, Kent," he said, and then proceeded to get lost in the book, walking and reading at the same time. The depth Kent had seen was hidden again.

Kent wondered what the Druid had meant by that last remark. Canas's words, though, had made him feel somewhat less guilty. He had been the target of very advanced magic, which was what made him attack his friend. He remembered Canas saying _"it will cause someone to attack the person that they care about most"_ and he smiled, bitterly. But then another thought occurred to him. _Why had he enjoyed it?_ He had laughed...he remembered that, laughing while Sain slumped from his horse. Had it been the darkness that enjoyed it, laughing while ruining chances for a relationship? Would it have laughed while Kent killed himself? Kent shuddered, the pain in his shoulder throbbing in time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've always liked Canas, he's an overlooked character with alot of depth. Anyway, please review.


	4. Chapter 4

Was it weeks? Hours? He did not know how long he had lain in the healer's tent. He remembered drinking from a cup held to his lips, but his thirst was never really quenched. Since Sain had fallen from his horse after Kent had attacked him, he had lain in repose, too weak to be fully conscious. He had dreamed first of his friend stabbing him, laughing as he died, and then, in what may or may not have been a dream, Kent telling him that he was okay, that there was nothing to worry about. His dreams had calmed since then, his subconscious mind reassured. If Kent was okay, he would be too.

Sain opened his eyes, noting the bright outline of the sun outside the tent flap. This was the first time he had been completely aware in- well, he didn't know how long. His mind cleared, his body no longer felt weighted, and he sat up slowly, noting his surroundings.

He was in the healer's tent; he knew that much. His mouth and throat felt as dry as dust, and he wondered if he would ever escape this unnatural thirst.

That thought, though, seemed paltry compared to his concerns for Kent as the memories of his tranquility and surety while he had been asleep wore off. Had the berserk staff been disabled? Was Kent dead, slain by his own comrades for something he could not have helped? He remembered the dream he had had, Kent telling him that he was alright, but dreams were not reality. Sain could not have raised hands against the object of his innermost desires, but he could not speak for other members of the camp when faced with killing their comrade or their own death.

"You're awake!" The unusually peppy voice cut through his thoughts, and Sain slowly looked over towards the source-How could a healer be so cheerful?-and saw Serra smiling at him, her hands clasped like a little girl who had just found a new doll. Ordinarily, Sain would have taken the chance to try to win her over, but he just didn't seem to have the energy. Later, then. _You don't want people wondering.  
_

"Here, have some water!" Serra's every word seemed unusually loud, but that might just have been due to the contrast between her voice and the perfect silence that had permeated only minutes ago.

Sain tried to ignore her scrutiny as he drank from the canteen she had handed him, quickly emptying it. It only took the slightest edge off his thirst, and he looked at her expectantly for more.

Serra seemed oblivious to his longing, taking the canteen from him and tossing it over her shoulder. "You look okay now. How do you feel?" She seemed to glare at him, daring him to tell her that he felt different from how he looked. He didn't know if Serra meant to look threatening of if she wanted him out of the tent. Frankly, he didn't much care-He felt the need to see Kent, to reassure himself that he was okay. He struggled to remember what had happened. Why hadn't Kent finished him off? Had he been attacked by someone else? Sain was glad he wasn't dead, but not if Kent had paid the price instead.

Serra seemed annoyed by Sain's lack of a response. "You've been here almost three days, if you're not healed then I'm no cleric." Sain looked up at her in surprise; three days? What had happened while he had been lying here?

"The tactician wants to leave tomorrow, so we need to take the tent down." Serra raised an eyebrow at him, hoping he'd get the hint. They'd used two heal staves in order to rebuild his stamina for the blood he had lost; the tactician said that the staves must help rebuild red blood cells, or something like that. All this was lost on Sain, however.

"I'll give you time to get dressed." With that, Serra left, leaving Sain without time to form a proper witty remark. He didn't feel too slighted, though. He certainly felt weaker than usual, but not to the point where he would need aid dressing himself. The need to make sure that Kent was okay energized him.

Before he put on his shirt, one without bloodstains, he took the time to inspect his chest where the lance had run him through. Everything seemed perfect, his skin unblemished. There was, however, a tiny twinge in the muscle when he raised his arm to don his shirt-an echo of the crippling blow that had severed the tendon. Sain frowned at the memory.

When Serra came back in, Sain wanted to ask her about Kent, and then found that he could not. He was afraid of the answer he might get. Instead, he fell back to his old habits, in an attempt to reassure himself.

"So, did you get a good look at me while I was healing?" He grinned suggestively at her, and Serra huffed in anger before he retreated out the tent flap. He actually had thought that someone had removed the blanket to look at him at some point. In the dream it had been Kent, but that's all that would ever be-a dream. The thought sobered him, and convinced him to find his friend. That is, if he could be found. _Don't think that way!_

The sun blinded him initially, a harsh difference from the darkness of the tent. Sain walked quickly at first, and then suddenly found himself dizzy and out of breath. He leaned against a tent pole for support, cursing the tactician's haste. He would have to ride like this tomorrow, and if there was a battle he'd get left out. He resolved to renew his training as soon as possible. Kent would be proud. Sain didn't know how to feel about that.

After catching his breath, Sain stood up again, meaning to head to his tent. What if Kent wasn't there? Of course that wouldn't necessarily mean he was dead, but...

"Are you okay?" Sain looked up at Lucius, who had just emerged from the tent he had been leaning against. The feminine looking Bishop looked worried, and Sain didn't blame him. He had spent the last three days unconscious, after all.

"I'm fine." Sain said simply, smiling in order to reassure the man. He decided to put an end to his inner turmoil. "Have you seen Kent?"

"Kent?" Lucius frowned, and for a moment Sain's heart stopped. "He's probably in his tent." The completion of that sentence was like an invigorating drug to Sain. _He's okay!  
_

"He's been awfully withdrawn, though," Lucius continued, looking thoughtful. He smiled at Sain then. "Probably worried about you."

_Well, nothing like my presence to put his mind at ease,_ Sain thought, smiling. "Thanks." He waved to Lucius before hurrying on to the tent he shared with his friend, anxious to see him. Kent may not share Sain's feelings for him, but at the moment it didn't matter. Sain wasn't selfish; his only concern was that Kent was alright.

The camp was restless, everyone preparing for the ride tomorrow. Sain walked through as purposefully as he could, trying to remember where Kent had staked their tent the day of the battle. Finally, the maroon colored tent came into view, with the pennant of the knights of Lycia flapping pathetically in the breeze.

Sain couldn't help but increase his pace, wondering how Kent would react when he saw him. Lucius had said he had been withdrawn....what was that supposed to mean? Sain was sure he would put it right. Kent couldn't have been all that worried. He approached the tent resolutely.

"Kent?" It was unusually dark inside, and Sain entered clumsily, tripping over some sort of cloth on the floor and spilling a basin of water. "Damnit!" His lack of grace was compounded by his understandable weakness.

"Who's there!?" A figure sat up at the other end of the smallish tent, peering through the gloom. "...Sain?"

Sain grinned fondly at the figure, recognizing the voice of his friend, and sat down across from him. "It's me! Serra kicked me out once I woke up, she sure is..." Sain trailed off at the lack of reception. "Man, are you okay?"

Kent covered the aching wound on his shoulder with his hand, in what was now, to him, a familiar posture. He lay shirtless, having discarded the shirt he had been wearing earlier that day when the gash had opened yet again, and Sain had tripped over it when he had come in. The water he had washed it with pooled on the floor of the tent, and he watched it intently, almost ignoring Sain. Almost. What could he say? That he was sorry? Why didn't Sain demand anything of him?

"Kent?" Kent looked up suddenly, Sain's voice now expressing concern, which he then tried to make light of. "Did I wake you up or something?"

"Sain, I..." His voice wavered, and Kent cursed his own cowardice. He had tried to visit Sain again since the time he had snuck in, but apparently the healers had grown wise to it. On top of everything else, that only made him feel worse. Kent looked down at the ground, unsure if he could meet Sain's gaze. "I'm sorry." He said it quietly, for fear his voice would break. He knew it sounded stupid, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything else.

Sain was taken aback by Kent's countenance. He looked tired, almost haggard, as he sat in the gloom of the dark tent, facing the floor. _What's wrong with him?_ The fact that he held his hand to his shoulder so protectively was also unnerving. Then Sain looked closer, and saw dark liquid flowing between Kent's fingers-blood?

Sain was on him in an instant, tearing Kent's hand away from his shoulder, and the sight was nerve wracking. "Damn, Kent!" Sain sucked in a breath, taking in the bloody gash. No weapon he knew could result in such a torn, ugly injury. It looked like someone had taken a fork to it, and it was barely half healed.

Kent cringed away from him, but Sain caught his hand. "What happened?" Sain didn't even admire Kent's shirtless body, his eyes trained to the wound.

How could he tell him? "I...got shot." Kent said simply, his heart pounding at Sain's proximity.

"With what!?" Sain replied archly, looking his friend full in the face. He wanted to know what had happened, his morbid curiosity suddenly aroused by Kent's condition. What had done this to him? "Tell me what happened."

Kent seemed to sag, and then replied in a monotone. "Wil saw me...attack you. He shot me, to save your life. Then Priscilla restored me, and healed you, and I..." Kent left out his own certainty that he had killed his best friend before Priscilla had healed him, and his ill thought out suicide attempt directly after. He shook, and finished in a voice filled with tears. "And I'm so sorry..." He could not stifle a sob.

Sain was wrenched with emotion at seeing his friend in such a state. He guided Kent to lie down, and the redhead did so gratefully, closing his eyes as if to escape.

While Kent lay with his eyes closed, Sain quickly took a cloth and pressed it to the wound. Kent hissed in pain and struggled to sit up, but Sain held him with his free hand. "I have to wrap it up, Kent. You can't leave it like this." Sain's tone conveyed an uncharacteristic tenderness, and Kent eyed him warily before lying back down. He suddenly wanted to hope.

Sain didn't want to take Kent to a healer. He had a sense that something in Kent wouldn't let them tend to him, a stubborn, self destructive sense of justice. Sain knew more about Kent than his friend accounted for.

He wrapped the cloth tightly around the wound, wishing he could be a bit gentler but knowing that doing so would leave the possibility that the makeshift bandage would fall off. Kent cried out once when Sain cinched it, then lay panting on the floor of the tent. He looked at Sain in a way that made Sain's stomach flutter.

"Why...you didn't need to do that." Kent waited for a justification.

Sain smiled at him, and couldn't help from touching Kent's cheek tenderly. It was ironic, what with him probably physically being the weaker of the two at the moment, but he felt Kent needed more care than he did. "Of course I did. You didn't do anything to deserve an injury like that."

"But"- Kent tried to protest, but Sain wouldn't let him.

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was that staff, or the magic, or something. Besides, I'm fine."

Kent calmed down at that. Hadn't Canas said something similar only a day or so ago? It hadn't seemed to sink in until he heard it from Sain's lips. The terrible guilt and remorse seemed to melt from him then, leaving relief, and a vast yearning.

"Sain..." Kent stared at him then, trying to convey his desire. He didn't dare voice it, but it finally felt safe to hope.

Sain noticed the charge in the air, and noted the way his friend looked at him. Daring hope himself, he put aside his reservations and the carefully built subterfuge of years, and leaned down to kiss the man he had been dreaming of for what seemed an eternity.

Their kiss lasted longer than they both had expected, Sain bringing his body closer to Kent's as he lay in the tent. He avoided Kent's shoulder as their kiss deepened, the atmosphere silent, yet heavy with fulfillment.

When they finally broke apart, panting, Sain lay down next to Kent, craving closeness. His body was still weak, and he was tired even from the small effort of kissing, but his satisfaction was incredible. Kent put his good arm around him, regarding him disbelievingly, but with a great deal of contentment.

No words needed to be spoken. The love Kent harbored for Sain overrode any residual traces of guilt, and Sain lay next to him smiling, giddy as always. They would ride tomorrow, as before, Sain still weak and Kent with his shoulder wound, but for now their closeness rehabilitated them both, as it would for a long time.


End file.
